


Corruption

by AppleSeeds



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angst with a Happy Ending, Demon Crowley (Good Omens), Implied threat of non-con, Kidnapping, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Explicit Sex, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSeeds/pseuds/AppleSeeds
Summary: A secret organisation has kidnapped Aziraphale to take his blood to cure sickness amongst the elite, but when his blood is found to be too pure for some of the subjects to tolerate it, the witch Anathema Device is forced to summon a demon, Crowley, who is charged with the task of corrupting him.The angel and the demon haven't spoken to each other in over six thousand years, but they both have good reasons for recognising the other immediately. As Aziraphale realises what Crowley has been sent to do to him, he grapples with the realisation that he doesn't find the prospect unappealing, his mind flooded with the memories of centuries' worth of secret fantasies.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 151
Kudos: 189
Collections: Courts GO Re-Reads





	1. Purity

**Author's Note:**

> Not one week ago I said I might just devote myself to writing fluff and only fluff and then this happened - hello darkness my old friend! This is a dark premise, but there's a lot of love and longing here too... Happy ending guaranteed!
> 
> Shadwell is evil in this, if you really like him, give this one a miss. My most sincere apologies for my terrible attempt to write Shadwell's dialogue.
> 
> c/w for the story - kidnapping and imprisonment, threatening behaviour, implied threat of non-consensual sexual activity (but nothing of that nature happens and it is never actually a real threat)

The scent of fresh paint, the distant slam of a door, a sharp scratching pain in the crease of his elbow and a restrictive tightness around his hands all congealed into an onslaught on his senses as Aziraphale regained consciousness. He licked his lips, the metallic taste of dried blood being added to the disconcerting sensory mixture, and forced his eyes open, blinking in response to the stinging sensation induced by the harsh bright light of the room.

Aziraphale twisted uncomfortably, each movement an intense effort, and discovered he was lying on a bed in a small room with whitewashed walls. His eyes flicked immediately to his elbow, where a needle attached to a syringe had been used to pierce his skin, still fastened in place with surgical tape. The sight of it somehow intensified the pain, and Aziraphale winced, instinctively drawing his hand down to remove the needle, thus discovering the origin of the tight sensation he was experiencing around his wrists. His hands had been shrouded in thick white gloves, which eradicated his dexterity, and which were tightly bound where they met his forearms. Aziraphale raised his hand above his head and drew it down, trying to snap his fingers, but nothing happened.

He pushed his palms down on either side of him and dragged his body up into a seated position. His head fell forward, too heavy for his neck to support, and the walls seemed to tilt one way and then the other. His heart was beating a fierce rhythm, pounding hard against his sternum. Aziraphale pressed a gloved hand to his forehead, using it to lift his head, blinking hard as he surveyed the room, although there wasn’t much to see. There was a single door but no windows, the harsh light in the room coming from an unshaded fixture in the centre of the ceiling, and other than the bed on which he sat with his legs now curled up beneath him, there was no furniture in the room.

It might have seemed logical to try the door, despite the fact it would almost certainly be locked, but Aziraphale’s attempt to raise his head without the support of his hand proved that such a course of action would be unwise. He lay back on the bed, his pulse thrumming along with a building pressure in his head, his fingers squirming inside the restrictive gloves. Nothing he tried allowed him to perform a miracle that would allow him to escape.

Aziraphale had no idea what could have happened. The last thing he remembered was being in the flat above his bookshop, late at night after all of his customers had long since departed, making a cup of hot cocoa in the kitchen. He vaguely recalled an unexpected sound, but it had been quiet and muffled, nothing he couldn’t dismiss as a consequence of the storm building outside. Now he was in this inhospitable, unfamiliar room, with no memory of what had happened in between.

Shortly after laying his head back on the firm surface of the bed, Aziraphale must have lost consciousness again, as the next time he regained awareness, there were two figures standing in the corner of the room, watching him.

“Hello?” Aziraphale croaked, coughing and trying to clear his throat. He ran his tongue again over his parched, cracked lips.

“Is it safe to approach him?” one of the men whispered.

“Aye, if the gloves werenae working he’d be long gone by now,” the other man replied much more confidently. “I told ye, didn’I?”

Aziraphale shuffled backwards, using the wall behind him as support to keep himself upright as the quieter man tentatively approached. He was young, with scruffy dark hair and glasses that possibly made him appear younger than he actually was. He was visibly anxious, but rather than sympathy, Aziraphale experienced a prickle at the back of his neck as the man came closer.

“Aziraphale, isn’t it? Hello. Please, forgive the intrusion,” he began, his voice soft, gentle and rather formal.

“Poor choice o’words, laddie.” The man in the corner, a gruff, older gentleman, interjected.

“Father Shadwell, please let me...”

“You’re a priest?” Aziraphale forced out, his voice still coarse, his mouth so dry that swallowing seemed only to withdraw even more of the moisture from it.

“Aye, an’ I know what ye are, _angel_. Careful, Newt, ye might not want t’...”

“Father Shadwell, _please_. I appreciate your advice, but you did agree to let me speak with him.”

“An’ if ye don’ _heed_ my advice ye’ll be wantin’ more protection than I can gi’ye!” Father Shadwell glowered.

“Aziraphale. That’s your name, yes?” Aziraphale grimaced and gave a small nod. “My name is Newton Pulsifer. Don’t worry, you won’t be here for long. That...” Newton looked down and pointed shakily towards the needle protruding from Aziraphale’s elbow. “We just needed to take some blood. This will all be sorted out soon, I’m sure.”

“We wouldnae had to take such extreme measures if ye’d cooperated!” Shadwell boomed.

“Cooperated?” Aziraphale choked out. The lines on his forehead deepened. What was he not remembering? Newton held his hand up briefly, then seemed to question his own confidence and retracted it, but the gesture was sufficient to prevent Shadwell from responding.

“A few weeks ago, someone approached you? Told you they knew what you were? They wanted you to help?” These were statements, but the way Newton delivered them made them appear to be questions.

This Aziraphale _did_ remember. A group of people who had barged into his shop, claimed to know he was an angel and demanded he help them to cure the illnesses of ‘important people’. Aziraphale had bristled at the notion that any human could be considered more important than any other, and had politely explained that it was not for him to make these kinds of decisions, that he had to do as he was told. They had threatened him, but he had sent them away with cake, and he had not been particularly more concerned than he had been about the ruffians who had tried to get him to sell his shop over the years. He was now cursing himself for his complacency.

“I’m not allowed to provide this kind of help,” Aziraphale insisted once again. “Please, I would love nothing more than to help and protect _all_ humans, but I can’t interfere with God’s divine plan.”

“ _Divine plan_? I’ve spent my entire life in service to the Lord, sat idly by as He ignored my prayers, let wee bairns suffer and _die_ o’cancer and worse!”

“It’s not for us to question...” Aziraphale tried, but Shadwell growled, encouraging him into silence.

“Aziraphale, listen. We have it on good authority that your blood could help to save people who are suffering. It sounds as though we want the same thing. That’s right, isn’t it? Don’t worry, it’s just a few people, a few... _important_ people,” Newton swallowed and drew his hands closer to his body. “And the blood we took from you last night has worked wonders,” he smiled nervously, “in most cases. That’s what I need to talk to you about. There were a few people... their bodies seemed to reject your blood, do you know why that would be?”

“Who are these people?” Aziraphale asked hoarsely. Newton sighed heavily and furrowed his brow before glancing over at Father Shadwell.

“Aye, tell him,” Shadwell encouraged.

Newton winced and turned back to Aziraphale. “Politicians, mostly, and other leaders. Do you know if there’s anything we can do? They’ve... _invested_ a lot in this; they’re expecting to see the rewards.”

“My blood will not help those who are unworthy,” Aziraphale murmured desolately.

“How do you mean?” Newton pressed.

“If those people are corrupt...” Aziraphale began, but Shadwell interrupted him.

“I told ye, Newt.”

“There must be _something_ we can do,” Newton implored quietly, leaning in close to Aziraphale. “If not, Father Shadwell has suggested a course of action that I really don’t wish for us to take.”

“Ye coward!” Shadwell scoffed, apparently still able to hear Newton despite the soft tone he had adopted, after all, the room was very small, and he’d been craning his neck to lean closer and listen.

“What course of action would that be?” Aziraphale asked nervously.

“Apparently this hasn’t happened with other angels.”

“You’ve done this to other angels?” Aziraphale asked incredulously.

“Aye,” Father Shadwell leered with pride.

“Your blood seems to be different. Father Shadwell believes it to be too pure, you know, because you _haven’t_ been corrupted.”

“You can’t be saying that other angels...” Aziraphale started. The thought that the blood of his fellow angels was impure, that they were somehow corrupt, didn’t bear thinking about. Once again he was cut off by Shadwell.

“I thought we’d be all righ’ with ye, _hedonistic_ angel, we’ve been watching ye for months! But, not to worry, there’s things can be done. Come along, laddie.”

“Aziraphale, _please_? Is there _anything_ you can do to help these people?” Newt begged, eyes wide, the tension in his shoulders heightened. Aziraphale shook his head, and for the first time, Father Shadwell crossed the room to clap Newton on the shoulder, encouraging him to follow him back out of the room.

“I told ye! But dunnae worry, laddie, we can fix it easy enough, an’ if the lass insists on practicing witchcraft...”

“But it’s dangerous!”

“Ye lettin’ ye heart get in the way, Newt, an’ tha’s far _more_ dangerous.”

That was the last of the hushed conversation between the two men that Aziraphale could discern before they left the room and the door sealed shut behind them.


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale wakes up to find a demon in the room with him.

When Aziraphale awoke again, it was to the sound of the door closing and sealing shut behind a new figure that had entered the room. The presence in the room with him was not a man this time. Despite Aziraphale’s sluggishness, he was quickly able to sense that this was a demon. Aziraphale did feel a little stronger now, his body apparently having recovered slightly from the blood loss, and he managed to lift up his head to inspect the figure.

“Aziraphale...” the demon murmured softly. He then cleared his throat and his voice found strength. “It is Aziraphale, right? Angel of the Eastern Gate? We’ve met, haven’t we? You gave away your flaming sword.”

Aziraphale’s heart leapt up into his throat, and he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to improve his focus. He recognised the demon immediately, although, as was to be expected, he was dressed differently from the last time Aziraphale had seen him, in a style much more modern than that preferred by Aziraphale himself. Every part of the demon’s outfit was black or grey and very tight-fitting, including the sleek black gloves that had been bound to his hands, presumably to prevent him from using his demonic powers. One of those hands had a length of red rope wrapped loosely around it, trailing down to the floor. The demon’s eyes were covered by dark glasses, but his lustrous, flowing copper-red curls and the distinctive tattoo of a coiled snake beside his ear had facilitated Aziraphale’s instant recognition.

“Crawley.”

“I go by Crowley now. Long time, no see, angel.”

“Six thousand years,” Aziraphale lied. His voice trembled and his eyes automatically flicked to the door, his only potential route of escape, an irrelevant fact, as he had quite clearly heard the door seal and lock when Crowley had entered the room. Crowley approached, sitting on the edge of the bed, which dipped slightly beneath him as he did so. Aziraphale instinctively shuffled backwards to increase the distance between them, while Crowley dropped the length of rope onto the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been summoned to corrupt you.”

“How?” Aziraphale glanced at the rope on the floor and tensed.

“How the Heaven did you end up locked up in here?” Crowley asked, disregarding Aziraphale’s question.

“They brought me here, obviously,” he bristled.

“Well, yeah, but how did they find out you’re an angel? Been performing frivolous miracles in front of humans, have you?”

“That was certainly never my intention.”

“Hmm. So, giving the mortals a flaming sword, how did that work out for you?”

“Not well, apparently,” Aziraphale huffed sardonically. “Humans are capable of many wonderful things but they can be vicious, violent _animals_.”

“Yeah, half the stuff I get commended for, the humans just did it all themselves.”

Aziraphale flinched, not wanting to contemplate the _other_ half of what the demon might have been commended for, unprepared for how much it might damage the image of Crowley he had carefully crafted in his mind over the centuries.

When Aziraphale had first met him, six millennia ago, Crowley hadn’t been at all what he’d been expecting of the demon who had infiltrated the Garden of Eden and incited original sin by tempting Eve into eating the forbidden apple. He had been undeniably beautiful, friendly, inquisitive, and he had even doubted himself, and put Aziraphale’s own mind at rest about his decision to give away his flaming sword. Aziraphale wondered how much of the perception he had of Crowley would turn out to be accurate.

Crowley reached up and removed his dark glasses, folding them and depositing them carefully in the pocket of his jacket. Aziraphale vividly remembered those amber serpentine eyes, and how captivated he had been when he had last had the privilege of gazing into them. “You all right?” Crowley asked softly, wincing as his eyes focused on the syringe taped to Aziraphale’s arm.

“They took my blood,” Aziraphale confessed, his voice faint, apprehensive about the consequences of demonstrating himself so weak and vulnerable in the presence of a demon. This may have been _Crowley_ , who had assumed a starring role in Aziraphale’s dreams and fantasies on far too many occasions over the years, but there was no denying that no matter Aziraphale’s perceptions of him, he was still a demon, and should be treated with caution. This, however, did not account for the way Aziraphale’s heart fluttered when Crowley leaned a little closer and gently rested his gloved fingertips on Aziraphale’s forearm, just below the needle. He was so close that Aziraphale even became aware of the scent of him, taking his mind right back to the moment they met. Aziraphale couldn’t believe that after all this time, he and Crowley were actually alone in this tiny space together.

“Let me guess, the wankers they wanted it for had a bad reaction to it?”

“So they tell me.”

“Not surprising. I’ve seen angels so selfish and cruel they’d give _Hastur_ a run for his money, but you... Well, at least now I understand why I’m here,” Crowley sighed, stretching his arms above his head until his back cracked.

“Why _are_ you here, exactly?” Aziraphale asked timidly, and Crowley fixed him with a penetrating, disquieting stare.

“I told you, they want me to corrupt you,” Crowley repeated. Aziraphale had hoped for more information, but perhaps he had been too subtle with his questioning.

“Why do you have rope?” he asked, his voice thick with apprehension and a mild thrill which he tried to suppress.

“In case I need to restrain you,” Crowley said calmly. Aziraphale’s mouth went dry, and his eyes flared. “Father Shadwell isn’t the brightest bulb is he?” Crowley raised up his gloved hands and wiggled them in front of Aziraphale.

“What are they?” Aziraphale asked, staring at his own hands.

“Humans invented them for controlling demons, it never occurred to me they’d work on angels too. There’s some kind of electronic device thingy in them, stops us from using our powers.”

“Well, perhaps demons shouldn’t make such a habit of interfering in the affairs of humans, then they wouldn’t have needed to invent such a thing,” Aziraphale retorted, his words attempting to mask the effects of the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“You’re one to talk; I’m guessing you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been meddling with human affairs, how else did they find out you’re an angel?”

Aziraphale averted his gaze for a moment, but besides Crowley, there really wasn’t anything else to look at in the room. He swallowed and took a deep breath before trying again to solicit more information. “When you said they want you to... _corrupt_ me, what did you mean by that?”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley spoke his name sternly.

“Please tell me,” Aziraphale urged, although his mind was liberally supplying images pertaining to what might be involved, and his stomach tightened as he acknowledged that those images were not unwelcome.

“Let’s just talk for a while.” How long had Aziraphale dreamed of hearing Crowley say those words, for the two of them to be close to one another, and to actually be able to talk? “What have you been up to recently?”

“You’re not serious?” Aziraphale asked incredulously. He couldn’t imagine that Crowley had been sent in here simply to have a polite conversation with him. There was nothing Crowley could _say_ that Father Shadwell would believe capable of corrupting an angel.

“Come on, Aziraphale, it’s been six thousand years! We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“I want to know what they’ve sent you here to do. I want you to tell me.”

“You know what they’ve sent me here to do,” Crowley said softly, conveying the meaning of his words with his eyes. Aziraphale held his arms protectively over his lap.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Aziraphale whispered, his voice wavering.

“Of course I’m not going to hurt you!” Crowley hissed, then blew out a long breath and tilted his head back. He seemed genuinely offended by the suggestion, and Aziraphale’s stomach knotted even more. He should never have said such a thing, after all, they may not have spoken since the beginning but he knew Crowley better than that, didn’t he? Crowley threaded his fingers through his long curls, smoothing them down over his shoulder. His voice softened as he continued, “But I am going to have to do _something_ , angel. They’re not going to let either one of us go until they get what they want.”

Aziraphale continued to stare at Crowley with wide, imploring eyes. Crowley moved suddenly, rising from the bed and stooping to grab hold of the rope he had dropped to the floor. He slung it over his shoulder and headed back towards the door, which he banged three times in quick succession with his fist.

“Crowley, where are you going?”

Crowley simply ran his eyes up and down Aziraphale’s body until a beep sounded to indicate the door seal had been released. He then repositioned his glasses on his face just before he was escorted out of the room.

*******

“Is it done?” Newt asked quietly, his body rigid and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“We had a lovely conversation,” Crowley replied smugly.

“We didnae summon ye for polite chit-chat, demon!” Shadwell bellowed.

“Oh, no?” Crowley taunted with a smirk, sauntering further into the room.

“Ye’ve been told the consequences if ye dunnae do what we’ve asked o’ye!”

“I think I know a little more about what it takes to corrupt an angel than you do, Father Shadwell. Corruption isn’t something you can _inflict_ on him, or on _anyone_ for that matter. He has to come to it himself. He has to _want_ it, and that means I have to tempt him. You can’t rush these things.”

“Ye better not take too long!”

“Of course not,” Crowley smirked. “Now, why don’t you tell me everything you know about Aziraphale?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special guest appearance by The Rope for all the lovely people on Twitter! It might appear in everything I write from now on in one form or another...
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I'd love to hear what you think so far! <3


	3. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley brings Aziraphale some crepes, and the two of them start getting to know each other better.

The next time Crowley entered the room in which Aziraphale was being incarcerated, rather than rope, he held a plate in his hand.

“I wasn’t sure if they’d fed you. I managed to persuade them to let me bring you this.”

Crowley crossed the room and sat in the same position on the edge of the bed as he had before, offering the plate to Aziraphale, who involuntarily licked his lips. _Crepes_.

“You must be very persuasive,” Aziraphale deduced, his mouth watering. He held his hands tensely at his sides, determined not to seem too eager.

“Comes with the job. Do you want them or not?”

Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley handed the plate over, Aziraphale taking it awkwardly from him by cupping his hands beneath it, his dexterity hampered by the gloves.

“There’s no cutlery,” Aziraphale observed.

“You’d struggle to use it properly anyway, your gloves look worse than mine.”

This was a fair observation. Aziraphale’s ‘gloves’ might as well have been mittens for the freedom they granted his fingers, whereas Crowley’s allowed him, at least to a limited extent, to hold and manipulate objects, like the rope that had been in his possession on his last visit. Aziraphale didn’t let his mind dwell on that thought too much, nor did he let it spend too long entertaining thoughts of what else Crowley might be expected to do with his hands.

Aziraphale clumsily broke off a large piece from one of the crepes and placed it on his tongue, letting out a quiet, involuntary moan of delight. The food was surprisingly good, augmented perhaps by it being the first thing he had eaten for days. Aziraphale technically didn’t need to eat, but after so many years of keeping up appearances amongst humans, it was quite distressing to go without food now. A pang of shame bloomed in his gut as he remembered Father Shadwell calling him _hedonistic_ , as if he had believed that Aziraphale’s love of earthly pleasures could have tainted him somehow. Although if it had, he wouldn’t be in this position now, with Crowley sitting right beside him, leaning his chin on the back of his hand and watching him eat.

“Good, angel?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Aziraphale replied, subduing his enthusiasm even as he fumbled another piece into his mouth. He would _never_ normally eat like this, and the thought of doing so in front of Crowley was particularly distressing, after all, he had standards to uphold. But Aziraphale was hungry, and the crepes _were_ delicious.

“You’re allowed to enjoy it, you know. It won't make the situation any worse.” Crowley had to have been talking about the crepes, but Aziraphale’s mind betrayed him once again with unsolicited thoughts of what else might happen in this room that he would enjoy, his stomach lurching as he wondered whether, in fact, that was exactly what Crowley had meant. The thought that Crowley might be entirely aware of Aziraphale’s attraction to him sent the blood rushing to Aziraphale’s face, so he dipped his head and narrowed his eyes, quietly and resolutely chewing his food. Aziraphale could still feel Crowley watching him intently, and squirmed under his scrutiny. “So, anyway, I’ve bought us some time,” Crowley eventually said, breaking the heated silence that had descended between them.

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked after he swallowed his mouthful of crepes.

“Told them I needed time to properly corrupt you. That I needed to tempt you into it or it wouldn’t work.”

“Is that true?”

“How the Heaven should I know? The point is, _they_ don’t know.”

Demons were notorious for their elaborate mind games, tricks and temptations. Did the same apply to Crowley? Aziraphale felt uneasiness build in his gut as he tried to deduce Crowley’s motives. He squared his jaw and returned Crowley’s unblinking stare for a moment, before losing his resolve and turning his attention back to the plate in his lap. He slid a large piece of one of the crepes from the plate onto his glove, but it slipped from his hand before it reached his mouth.

“Here, let me.” Crowley retrieved the piece Aziraphale had dropped and held it between his fingers, bringing it close to Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale pressed his lips together and leaned back. He _couldn’t_ let Crowley feed him, not with so many fantasies from the past flooding his mind, scenarios he had conjured that he had wrongly believed successfully buried. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine how it was possible that his blood was more pure than that of other angels when he had harboured so many lustful thoughts for such a long time. “Aziraphale, come on, just let me help you.”

Aziraphale parted his lips to speak, tilting his head back away from Crowley. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Bringing me food, trying to help me, _buying time_ , for whatever good you think that might do. Don’t you have a job to do? Or is this all just part of it?”

“Look, I don’t expect you to trust me, but believe me, I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”

“Then why don’t you just get on with it, then they’ll let you go?” Aziraphale suggested. There was no other way out of this, why prolong the inevitable? Aziraphale would much rather _that_ than _this_ , as he feared the more time he spent talking to Crowley the more it would either reaffirm, perhaps even enhance, the image he had constructed in his mind, or shred it to pieces entirely, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to endure either of those options. Although, Crowley had said he thought this might only work if he were able to tempt Aziraphale, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was quite ready to admit to Crowley that that particular temptation had already been accomplished.

“I want to get to know you,” Crowley replied softly.

“Why?” Aziraphale asked incredulously, trying to quash the flicker of hope that ignited in his chest.

“Because!” Crowley offered by way of an answer, pouting and looking pointedly at the piece of the crepe he was still holding in front of Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale shook his head, and Crowley dropped it unceremoniously back onto the plate before shuffling closer to him on the bed, so much so that Aziraphale could feel the heat radiating from him, and once again became enveloped in his distinctive scent. “You intrigue me, Aziraphale. I’ve never met an angel like you. The way you gave away your flaming sword, which, by the way, I heard you lying to God about. The way you doubted yourself. The way you spoke to me like I was an equal.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ve both come a long way since then.”

“You no longer doubt yourself? Or you’d no longer consider speaking to me as an equal?” Crowley pressed. Aziraphale straightened his back and rolled his shoulders, setting his jaw and refusing to answer Crowley’s question. “I always hoped I’d see you again. It’s a shame our paths never crossed until now.”

Aziraphale swallowed thickly, hoping nothing in his eyes would betray the truth, that he too, of course, had hoped far too many times to speak again to the mysterious demon who had joined him on the wall at Eden. That he had, in fact, encountered him many, many, _many_ times over the centuries, watching from a safe distance, never letting his presence be discovered. How he had rehearsed in his mind what he would say to Gabriel if caught: that he was keeping Crawley (and then _Crowley_ , Aziraphale was pleased he had remembered to call him by his former name yesterday) under observation, monitoring his demonic schemes, intervening where necessary to thwart him.

Aziraphale had never observed anything that suggested Crowley was callous or cruel, quite the opposite in fact; when Crowley thought no one was looking, he seemed to have the tendency to be rather kind. But Aziraphale tried to remind himself that he couldn’t know who Crowley _truly_ was from centuries spent observing at a distance. He didn’t really know what Crowley might be capable of, particularly when his own survival was undoubtedly being threatened by Father Shadwell, who would certainly have a supply of holy water close by. It was imperative that Aziraphale find a way to keep fantasy separate from reality, but the aching softness in Crowley’s eyes was making that more and more difficult to achieve.

“Please eat the crepes, angel. I don’t know how long it will be before I’ll be able to get more.”

Crowley picked up the piece he’d been holding before, again bringing it close to Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale’s eyes focused on it for a long moment as he hesitated. He had eaten crepes _hundreds_ of times, but this felt different, like giving into temptation, and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he had been tempted by Crowley. All of those times he had watched him, he had been tempted to approach, to strike up a conversation, to discover if the demon was really as friendly as he had seemed when they had stood together on the wall at Eden. To have the privilege to look into those bright, golden eyes and to be on the receiving end of that heart-stopping beaming smile, maybe even to find an excuse to card his fingers through that lustrous, flowing hair... the temptation was always there.

Aziraphale had, eventually, managed to break his habit, determining it would be better to remove himself from temptation rather than continue with his ever-weakening attempts to fight against it. Until yesterday, he hadn’t seen Crowley for over two hundred years. Perhaps it was so, however, that temptations existed not to be _avoided_ but to be _resisted_ , and Aziraphale wondered whether he was being tested.

Aziraphale opened his mouth and tilted his chin up, allowing Crowley to place the food on his tongue, the fingers of his gloved hand brushing against Aziraphale’s parted lips. Aziraphale’s skin tingled and he felt the blood rush to his cheeks, his heart adopting such a wild rhythm that he feared Crowley might even be able to see his skin pulsing with every beat. Crowley smiled, not the prideful sneer of a demon whose subject had just succumbed to their temptation, but like he was genuinely pleased, maybe even relieved, and the flame of hope in Aziraphale’s chest expanded and threatened to consume his heart.

“Thank you,” Crowley murmured softly. Aziraphale chewed and swallowed quickly.

“How did you know I like crepes?”

“Oh... well, they told me, didn’t they? They’ve been watching you for a while by the sounds of it.”

“Ah, yes. They did say that,” Aziraphale noted, pushing the plate away from him. Once again, silence hung in the air between them, and Aziraphale pressed his palms to his thighs, glancing down at them as he found himself unable to keep his eyes locked with Crowley’s without becoming overwhelmed. “What are you going to do now?” he asked quietly.

“I’m just going to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Tell me what you’ve been up to,” Crowley began, and Aziraphale briefly raised his palm in front of him to object, but Crowley continued quickly. “I don’t mean _secret assignments_ from head office or anything! Just other stuff, you know. What do you do for fun?”

Aziraphale considered remaining silent, but what good would that do? His instincts and all of his observations of Crowley were telling him that he could trust him, and he so badly wanted to believe that was true.

“Well, I run a bookshop in Soho, in London. I’ve had it for over two hundred years now. I have a very impressive collection of first editions, of which I am particularly proud. I enjoy music and the theatre, and food, of course,” Aziraphale continued, feeling a little like he was writing one of those personal advertisements one used to see in the local newspapers. “There are a number of very nice restaurants that I frequent, but I do also partake in a spot of baking at home. Is that what you want to know?”

“Baking, eh?” Crowley’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead and he smiled and licked his lips, a light rosy colour tinting his cheeks. “That all sounds lovely.” Aziraphale couldn’t quite tell whether he was being sincere.

“What about you?” Aziraphale enquired politely.

“I actually live in London now too,” Crowley smiled. “Not far from you, in Mayfair.”

“And what have you been up to recently?”

“Besides being summoned to creepy warehouses by American witches, you mean?” Crowley joked. So they were in a warehouse. Aziraphale had had no idea what might be beyond the door in the corner of the room. “Ah, you know, keeping busy. Getting up to no good,” Crowley grinned slyly.

“Yes, I can imagine. And what about outside of work?”

“Well, I have my plants. The most lush and verdant in all of London, if they know what’s good for them, and the Bentley, she’s my pride and joy.”

“What is that, some kind of pet?”

Crowley laughed, his face then settling into a wide grin, and Aziraphale smiled fondly at him, which was entirely inappropriate given the circumstances.

“No, angel, my car.”

“Oh, right. That does make more sense.”

Crowley’s grin softened into an affectionate smile. “I’ve missed you, angel.”

Aziraphale blinked and licked his lips, thinking that if Crowley _was_ trying to tempt him, he was doing a very good job of it indeed. He was certainly tempted to reply in kind, but managed to resist it, his eyes travelling down to where Crowley’s gloved hand was now resting lightly on top of his own on his thigh.

“So, we’re just going to talk?” Aziraphale asked, disregarding Crowley’s comment.

“For now, angel, yes. We’re just going to talk.”


	4. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Aziraphale and Crowley make a confession to each other.

Crowley usually visited Aziraphale for several hours at a time. They reminisced about places they had visited and times throughout history they had experienced, albeit not _together_ , or, at least not as far as Crowley was concerned. They shared stories about emperors, kings and queens and the famous artists and playwrights they had met over the centuries. Crowley regaled Aziraphale with tales of his most elaborate schemes and temptations, many of which Aziraphale was secretly already familiar with, although he was never able to deduce how any harm had actually come to any of the humans involved. Generally it seemed that whatever happened was inevitably going to happen anyway without Crowley’s intervention.

Whenever Aziraphale asked Crowley about his personal involvement in whatever seemingly demonic invention he was describing, anything from the French Revolution and World War Two to Twitter image cropping, reality TV and those food blogs where the reader has to scroll through the writer’s life story before reaching the recipe, rather than taking credit for it, Crowley always objected to the insinuation that he had a part to play, suggesting that humans had come up with these ideas themselves. Crowley admitted to claiming responsibility in his reports to Hell, and yet was confessing to Aziraphale that this wasn’t true. He quite clearly wanted Aziraphale to believe he was actually _good_ , and although this could all have been part of an elaborately crafted temptation, Aziraphale credited himself with being more adept than that at seeing through a demonic scheme, and besides, it was very much the case that no further temptation was needed. Crowley actually seemed to be trying to _impress_ him.

It didn’t take long for what Aziraphale had feared to come to pass. His experience with Crowley not only reaffirmed the image of him he had constructed in his mind over the centuries, it considerably enhanced it. Crowley was even more incredible than Aziraphale had been able to imagine. Aziraphale often found himself forgetting where they were and what was at stake, catching himself gazing into Crowley’s serpentine eyes as he spoke, or finding his hand resting affectionately on Crowley’s arm with no memory of having placed it there. Crowley was becoming more tactile too, often taking one of Aziraphale’s shrouded hands between both of his own, or tenderly cupping Aziraphale’s jaw as he offered parting words, Aziraphale’s eyes fluttering closed as he leaned into the touch. Every time he felt Crowley’s hands on him, even with the barrier of the gloves between them, it sent shivers of anticipation down Aziraphale’s spine.

“I think you’ve got to know me pretty well now,” Aziraphale noted one day, his tone bordering on seductive. As usual, they were sat closely side-by-side on the bed, their shoulders brushing against each other. Aziraphale rested his palm on Crowley’s lower back, lightly rubbing up and down and once again cursing the thickness of the glove that covered his hand.

“We still have time,” Crowley murmured, shaking his head.

“Why take more time? You must be eager to get out of here.”

“I’m not, angel. I’m not in any rush.”

“I don’t understand. If you’re concerned about making me feel more comfortable, I can assure you...”

“I’m enjoying spending time with you,” Crowley interjected. “I don’t want it to end.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale whispered, his heart leaping up into his throat. A flicker of horror flashed across Crowley’s face.

“ _Fuck_ , that’s so selfish! I’m sorry, I know you must be desperate to get out of here, but I’m working on it, I promise. That’s why I’ve been stalling; I’m trying to find another way out of this.”

“I see,” Aziraphale offered in response, the ache of disappointment creeping through his chest, soon accompanied by a pang of guilt. A demon had been sent to corrupt him, and now that demon, the same demon he had admired for millennia, was trying to protect him from it, to _rescue_ him, and Aziraphale had the audacity to feel _disappointed_ rather than grateful. His hand was still tracing patterns over Crowley’s back, and Aziraphale was forced to admit that with his touch and his words, it had been _he_ trying to tempt _Crowley_. With that realisation, Aziraphale’s hand dropped down onto the mattress with a light thud.

Aziraphale had been left alone in this room for too many hours with no source of distraction to prevent his mind from conjuring all sorts of scenarios of what Crowley might do, of how he might touch him. He had pictured Crowley laying him down on the hard bed, lightly binding his hands above his head with the rope he had brought into the room on that first day, undressing him, and exploring every inch of his body with hands, teeth and tongue. Aziraphale had memorised the feel of those sleek black gloves when Crowley had tenderly touched his face, and his vivid imagination took that information and used it to furnish his fantasies. Perhaps with his dexterity hampered slightly by the gloves, Crowley would need to apply a little more pressure, grip a little tighter, touch him with firm, broad strokes... and Aziraphale would watch, savouring the lust and pleasure he visualised in Crowley’s eyes.

Aziraphale had spent so much time alone with his fantasies that he had never even considered the possibility of Crowley _not_ touching him. He now feared that perhaps Crowley didn’t _want_ to touch him, that the prospect was entirely unappealing, which would explain his determination to find another way out of the situation. But Aziraphale didn’t want to believe that. The way Crowley’s eyes trailed over his body each time he entered the room, the way he shuffled closer in imperceptible increments as they talked until eventually their thighs were touching, the way his cheeks flushed as he brushed off another compliment Aziraphale had given him, surely all of that had to mean _something_? 

Aziraphale knew he needed to move past these thoughts. Crowley’s protection, maybe even his _friendship_ , was worth infinitely more than the opportunity to yield to his fantasies. How could he have let his mind become so clouded by lust?

“I’m enjoying spending time with you as well, my dear, but if we get out of here we would be free to see each other whenever we liked,” Aziraphale suggested meekly, glancing down at his lap as he said it, unsure how Crowley would respond. It no longer mattered to Aziraphale what Gabriel and the others might think if they found out. He would do his best to conceal any association with Crowley from Heaven, of course, but if it all went pear-shaped he would just have to find a way to deal with the consequences. If Crowley actually wanted to pursue a friendship then there was absolutely no way Aziraphale was going to give that up.

“You... you would _want_ to see me?”

“Of course I would want to see you! I would like that very much, in fact,” Aziraphale smiled, his hand scooting forward again, the fingertips of his glove grazing just above the waistband of Crowley’s ridiculously tight jeans.

“Really? Oh... well... ok. Good. That’s good,” Crowley mumbled, that delightful blush creeping over his cheeks once again as they smiled at each other. Aziraphale reached up and reassuringly squeezed Crowley’s shoulder as best he could.

********

The next time Crowley entered the room, as soon as the door closed he leaned back, his head knocking against it with a thud. Aziraphale squinted at him, watching as, after a few seconds, Crowley dragged himself upright and sauntered over to sit on the bed, a little further away from Aziraphale than normal. “Listen, I need to tell you something.”

“That sounds ominous,” Aziraphale replied, keeping his voice as level as he could while his mind threw out suggestions of what Crowley could be about to say, the most insistent being, ‘ _I’ve decided to do what they summoned me for._ ’

“Nyeeeaahhh, well... yeah. It might freak you out a bit,” Crowley grimaced. Aziraphale nodded to encourage him to continue. “Before this week, Eden wasn’t the last place I saw you.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale choked, his heart rate climbing rapidly. He hadn’t considered what he would say if it ever turned out that Crowley had caught him watching. What could he possibly say to explain himself? Would the explanation Aziraphale had rehearsed for Gabriel work, or would Crowley see right through it? After all, unlike Gabriel, he would _know_ that his demonic schemes had not been thwarted as a result of Aziraphale’s presence.

“I’ve been... well, you know, since Eden, I’ve... kind of kept an eye on you. I’ve watched you sometimes. I just... well, it’s...” Crowley made some kind of indecipherable sound somewhere in the back of his throat. “Like I said, I was curious about you; you’re not like other angels. I guess I just wanted to see how you were doing. Make sure you were ok.”

“You’ve been watching me?” Aziraphale croaked, relieved to discover he had _not_ been caught, but quite unable to fully process what he was hearing. He hoped he didn’t sound as if he were making an accusation, as that would have been the least justifiable response possible to this particular situation.

“A bit,” Crowley confessed.

“You never spoke to me,” Aziraphale murmured, wondering whether Crowley would detect the hint of sadness in his voice. This was a different situation, wasn’t it? An angel had no business seeking to socialise with a demon, but surely a _demon_ could do whatever he wanted?

“Didn’t want to get you into trouble.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Aziraphale said for want of a better response. Despite learning that he hadn’t been caught, his heart was still pounding hard against his sternum and he was investing a great deal of energy in just trying to keep his breathing and his voice level. He considered whether he should confess to watching Crowley too, after all, if he wanted a friendship with Crowley he would have to admit to it at some point, wouldn’t he? He swallowed the words back, instead asking, “Why are you telling me this now?”

“I don’t think I can delay them much longer.”

“Oh, all right,” Aziraphale replied simply.

“Aziraphale, what are you talking about? It’s not _all right_! We need to figure out a way out of here!”

“Well, I assume they will let you go once you’ve done as they’ve asked, and if it works, they’ll let me go as well.”

“That won’t happen! You’re so clever, how can someone as clever as you be so stupid?” Crowley asked incredulously, and Aziraphale blinked back the tears that threatened to form in his eyes. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this. I’ve been watching closely and I think I can get to Newt. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to be here, someone’s forcing him to do all of this. He can help us to get out. I just need to convince him to take these blessed things off!” Crowley growled, pawing at his gloves with frustration.

“You can’t risk it, Crowley! It’s too dangerous!”

“I’m not going to touch you, angel.”

Aziraphale blinked, momentarily taken aback, but quickly regained his composure.

“You can’t risk speaking to Newton! If you give these people any indication that you’re not going to do what they summoned you for then they’ll destroy you!”

“I’m _not_ going to touch you,” Crowley asserted fiercely.

“If you don’t, don’t you think they’ll just summon another demon who will?”

Crowley growled. “Fuck!”

“Crowley, just do it. It’s fine. _Please_.” Aziraphale reached out for him, trying to squeeze his arm as best he could through the restriction of the glove, but Crowley snatched it away.

“I _can’t_ , angel. I can’t do that to you.”

“What makes you so sure I don’t want you to?” Aziraphale blurted out, his heart racing and his body trembling as he finally delivered his confession.

“Don’t say things like that!”

“Crowley, I can’t have you risking your life! Please...”

“No! Not like this! I haven’t waited _six thousand_ years just to...”

“Crowley...” Aziraphale began, but Crowley had already lifted himself from the bed and was banging violently on the door.

“Get me out of here!” he bellowed.

“Crowley, please! _Please_!” Aziraphale begged. “I want you,” he confessed softly.

Crowley’s head whipped round and he fixed Aziraphale with a penetrating stare, his teeth clenched and his breaths fast and shallow. As soon as the seal was released, Crowley roughly grabbed hold of the door and stormed out of the room.


	5. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley runs out of time.

The next time Crowley entered the room, he stood rigidly in the corner just in front of the door, unshielded eyes trained on Aziraphale. Aziraphale swallowed thickly and watched him, waiting for him to move.

“You didn’t mean it,” Crowley said, his voice low and stern.

“Crowley, I...”

“Are you just scared of who else they might send in here? Better the devil you know, is that it?”

“No, Crowley, it’s not like that at all!”

“I told you I wasn’t going to touch you,” Crowley said, his voice softening. After Crowley had confessed to watching him over the years, Aziraphale had allowed his hope to grow even more, but when he heard those words, the fears he had harboured gained strength and he could no longer ignore them. What if he’d read Crowley wrong, and he didn’t actually _want_ to touch him?

“Do you think you can get out of here on your own? If you can, if your chance comes, listen to me Crowley, you must take it. Please don’t worry about me. Don’t think about who they will send in your place. I understand if you don’t want me in that way. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, I would never ask you to do that.”

“If I _don’t want to_? How could you possibly think I might not _want_ to? Aziraphale, I’ve never wanted anything more! I want to push you down onto that bed and...” Crowley clenched his hands into fists in front of him and hissed between gritted teeth.

“What? What do you want to do?”

“ _Everything_.”

“Then do it.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Aziraphale.”

“There’s nothing you could do to me that I haven’t imagined,” Aziraphale confessed.

“Oh, you’d be surprised what I’m capable of,” Crowley growled.

“Then show me.”

Suddenly all of Crowley’s aggression melted away, and he fell down onto the bed beside Aziraphale, cradling his head in his hands.

“Aziraphale...”

Aziraphale scooted closer to him, cupping his jaw tenderly with his hand and turning Crowley’s head to face him.

“It’s all right, Crowley. Please look at me. It’s all right.” Then Aziraphale was doing what he had dreamt of for six millennia, smoothing his hand tenderly over Crowley’s hair, once again cursing the barrier of the glove, desperate to feel those silky strands between his fingers. His hand settled on Crowley’s nape, drawing him closer. “It’s all right,” he repeated softly, trembling slightly as he pressed his lips tentatively to Crowley’s. “This might be enough. Please kiss me.”

Crowley shifted, turning his body towards Aziraphale. Crowley studied him for a while, his deep, golden eyes seeming to search for something before they fluttered closed and Crowley firmly grabbed hold of Aziraphale’s shoulders and captured his mouth in a searing kiss. Heat flooded through Aziraphale’s body and he gasped against Crowley’s mouth, feeling Crowley’s grip on his shoulders tighten even further in response before he moved his hands up into Aziraphale’s hair, drawing him closer. Crowley’s hot, dextrous tongue penetrated his mouth, and Aziraphale let out a deep, languid moan, both hands now sliding up into Crowley’s hair and gripping it as firmly as he could through his gloves, eliciting a groan from Crowley when he tugged on it. Crowley shuffled closer, using the weight of his body to push Aziraphale down onto the bed, slotting his knee between his thighs, and Aziraphale yielded willingly.

Crowley crushed his lips more forcefully against Aziraphale’s, kissing him desperately, and Aziraphale didn’t care if Father Shadwell’s notions were right, whether being touched and kissed by a demon would do something to taint his blood, because this certainly didn’t _feel_ like corruption, it felt more like adoration. Crowley’s hands were still in his hair, but despite the passion of his kiss, they were stroking it tenderly, reverently, and Aziraphale had never felt so protected.

Crowley pulled back suddenly and leapt from the bed, wiping the back of his hand roughly across his mouth.

“That’s enough,” he grunted, seemingly to himself, standing and watching Aziraphale for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling with each of his panting, rapid breaths. Crowley gritted his teeth and sucked in a deep breath before heading over to the door and striking it firmly. Aziraphale pressed his palm to his chest and hunched over, trying to settle his own breathing. That kiss had been far better than anything he had imagined. He had eagerly surrendered to Crowley’s strength, feeling safe and _wanted_ with Crowley’s weight pressing down on him, and the way Crowley had responded set his entire body on fire. Crowley’s touch was addictive and Aziraphale already wanted more.

The seal released and the door opened. This time, Crowley didn’t immediately leave the room. Newton entered, holding a cluster of plastic vials. He locked eyes with Crowley, who nodded, and then crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed beside Aziraphale. Seeing little point in resisting, Aziraphale held out his arm, and Newton fastened the first vial onto the syringe and began to draw Aziraphale’s blood. Aziraphale grimaced and turned away, choosing instead to watch Crowley, who stood motionless by the door, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Newton filled four vials with blood and then rose from the bed.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, although it seemed neither specifically directed at Aziraphale nor Crowley, and then the two of them left the room together, leaving Aziraphale once again alone with his thoughts, and the lingering sensations afflicting his body as a result of Crowley’s kiss.

******

Crowley stared out of the window, watching the leaves gently drift down from the trees and scuttle across the car park. It had been two hours since Shadwell had left with the vials of Aziraphale’s blood. He would inevitably be back soon. Something pernicious and shrouded twisted and gnawed at Crowley’s gut, but he tried to ignore it, hoping that Aziraphale had been right, that this would work and then they would both be set free. But why did he feel so certain that it wouldn’t?

Crowley watched as Shadwell’s car pulled up in front of the warehouse, and stepped back from the window, turning to face the doorway and bracing himself for what seemed like the inevitable. Shadwell stormed in, throwing his car keys violently onto the table.

“It didnae work! What did ye do to him?”

“I kissed him,” Crowley said firmly, swallowing down the lump at the back of his throat.

“Well, looks like ye’ll have t’do better than that, won’t ye?”

“I _told_ you,” Crowley protested, still trying to buy time but aware that his window of opportunity was rapidly closing, “this will only work if he _wants_ me to do it.”

“Well, then, ye’d better find a way t’get him begging ye for it right now! They’ve had enough o’waiting, let me tell ye! This is yer last chance, don’t disappoint us or ye won’t like the consequences.” Shadwell wagged his finger and then pointed to the door to the corridor leading to the room in which Aziraphale had been incarcerated, nodding his head and urging Crowley to proceed. Crowley squared his shoulders and did so, the young man who stood guard outside Aziraphale’s room deactivating the lock and allowing him to enter.

Aziraphale looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes... those stunning, stormy blue-grey eyes that Crowley had dreamed for _millennia_ of having the chance to gaze into once again. His memories and his distant observation of Aziraphale over the years hadn’t done them justice, and now Crowley had had the privilege of seeing them up close again, all he wanted was to get lost in them.

“Hello, Crowley,” Aziraphale prompted, and Crowley blinked, unsure how long he had been standing there, staring.

“It didn’t work.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale replied simply. What was that supposed to mean? That he too hadn’t expected it to work? “Well then,” he added, his eyes still wide, almost pleading. _Fuck_ , Aziraphale had no idea what he was doing, did he? No matter what Crowley _thought_ he could see in Aziraphale’s eyes, he was painfully aware that his vision was being clouded by his own lust and longing. Aziraphale barely knew him, there was no way he could truly want him like this, not in the way Crowley wanted him to. Perhaps Aziraphale was simply resigned to this being their only way out, although Crowley still had his doubts that their captors could be trusted to let them go even if he did comply with their demands. Crowley stood his ground by the door, finding himself unable to move. “Crowley, it’s all right. I want you to do this. I want you. _Please_.”

“You can’t possibly really want me,” Crowley growled.

“Crowley, I need to tell you something. I should have told you this before, and I’m sorry,” Aziraphale began, his eyes now trained down towards his lap. Crowley’s stomach lurched in anticipation of what he might say. “I’ve been watching you too, over the years. I was never able to stop thinking about you after we met, so I sought you out, I watched you, more often than I can count. I learned about you, Crowley, I got to know you... how intelligent, how independent, how kind and _good_ you are. You captivated me, Crowley. I did try to stop, in fact, before our time together here I hadn’t seen you for quite a while, although I missed you terribly of course. I’ve never stopped missing you. I _know_ you, Crowley, and I _do_ want you. I want you more than anything. Please believe me.”

Crowley’s eyes pricked with tears as he processed what Aziraphale had said and he rushed across the room, launching himself at Aziraphale, their lips crashing together as they kissed frantically, Crowley pushing Aziraphale back against the bed and soon restoring the position they had adopted a few hours earlier, his knee nudging Aziraphale’s thighs apart. Crowley held Aziraphale down by his shoulders, pinning him to the bed. He broke their kiss, moving his mouth to Aziraphale’s neck, kissing, sucking, biting, wanting to claim him. Aziraphale moaned and clutched at Crowley’s back.

“Yes, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, his head tilting back and exposing more of his neck. “Yes, I want this,” he gasped, “thank you... I want you... please, Crowley...”

Crowley squeezed his eyes closed and collapsed against Aziraphale’s neck, a tear finally escaping and trailing down his cheek.

“This isn’t going to work, Aziraphale,” he panted after a moment, his lips still pressing lightly to the delicate skin beneath Aziraphale’s ear.

“What do you mean?”

“If we do this, it’s not going to _corrupt_ you,” he spat. “It’s not going to give them what they want.”

“Crowley, everything I’ve been taught would suggest there are few more effective ways to corrupt an angel than to...”

“I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley interjected. “It won’t work because I _love_ you. Everything _I’ve_ been taught tells me there is no way to corrupt _anyone_ through something done out of love.” Crowley lifted himself away from Aziraphale and sat on the edge of the bed, his head hanging down and the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes. “I haven’t just watched you a handful of times, Aziraphale. I’ve observed you closely, and everything I learnt about you just made me realise more and more how perfect you are, and being here with you now, there’s no point denying that what I feel for you is love. I’ve always been there, Aziraphale, getting you out of trouble. Do you remember the church in 1941? The Bastille in 1793? It wasn’t _good fortune_ that got you out of those situations, it was me.”

Crowley turned to face Aziraphale, who had shuffled back upright, his legs tucked beneath him on the bed. He reached out and took Crowley’s hand, cradling it between both of his and sweeping his own gloved hand over it tenderly. Aziraphale’s eyes were glistening, but behind the veil of moisture, Crowley could see his affection pouring from him.

“I do wish I had known,” Aziraphale murmured quietly, squeezing Crowley’s hand. “Thank you, Crowley. You must know that I love you too.”

Crowley laughed breathlessly. Nothing about this was funny, but perhaps it was the uncomfortable mixture of relief and the realisation of his possible impending doom that blended to elicit such an inappropriate response.

“Angel, I’ve rescued you before, please trust me to do it again now. I know you said it was too dangerous, but please trust me, I can do this, I can get us out of here,” Crowley insisted, the plan he had been considering solidifying in his mind, his resolve strengthened by the promise of Aziraphale’s love. “When they come, I’ll make them think I’ve done what they wanted. Let them take your blood, and I’ll come back for you, I promise.”

“And until they come?” Aziraphale asked softly, still smoothing his hand over the back of Crowley’s.

“Please just hold me, angel.”

Aziraphale shuffled across the bed and lay down, opening his arms to welcome Crowley. Crowley smiled, crawling onto the bed and snuggling up close to Aziraphale, their arms wrapped around each other. Crowley tangled his legs with Aziraphale’s, wanting to have as much contact with him as possible, and rested his head on his shoulder. Aziraphale began planting soft kisses on the top of his head.

_He loves me. He trusts me._

They lay there for a few minutes, Crowley listening to Aziraphale’s heartbeat and his rhythmic breaths, savouring the feel of his soft, warm body pressed up against him. Then a thought suddenly occurred to him, and Crowley raised himself up on his elbow, reaching up to undo Aziraphale’s bowtie. Aziraphale tilted his head down to watch with parted lips as Crowley’s hands moved over the fabric.

“They’re going to expect...” Crowley began, and Aziraphale nodded.

“Right.”

Crowley bent down to press a tender kiss to Aziraphale’s lips, and he could feel Aziraphale smiling against his mouth. He then returned to the task at hand, smoothing out Aziraphale’s bowtie as it hung loose around his neck and undoing a few of the buttons at the top of his shirt. He grazed his fingertips down Aziraphale’s chest and over his stomach before reaching his waistband and pulling his shirt free. Then he hesitated.

“It’s all right, Crowley,” Aziraphale reassured him. Crowley thought for a moment, then removed his own jacket, draping it over Aziraphale’s trousers like a blanket.

“They won’t look that closely,” Crowley muttered, cupping Aziraphale’s face and kissing him softly once again. He studied him for a moment and then moved both hands into Aziraphale’s hair, tugging on his short, soft curls and then grabbing a handful of them, rubbing at Aziraphale’s scalp to augment his dishevelled appearance. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed and he drew in a shuddering breath. “Oh, you _like_ that?” Crowley drawled, biting down on his bottom lip. Aziraphale nodded and reached out for him, his gloved hands determinedly finding their way beneath Crowley’s shirt and grazing over his lower back. “Once we get out of here, I fully intend to commit myself to learning everything you like.”

Satisfied with his work, Crowley gave Aziraphale one last lingering kiss and then returned to his previous position, snuggled up as close as possible against him.

“I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you too, angel. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”


	6. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley puts his plan to rescue Aziraphale into action.

Crowley didn’t knock on the door this time. He had already decided to stay with Aziraphale for as long as possible, lying on the bed and holding him until someone actually came to remove him.

At the sound of the door opening, Crowley gave Aziraphale one last, reassuring squeeze and reluctantly raised himself from the bed. Newt briefly locked eyes with him, and then, without a word, repeated his task from earlier, fitting several vials one after the other to the syringe to take more of Aziraphale’s blood. Crowley winced in time with Aziraphale, but was relieved that Newt wasn’t taking too much blood. From what Crowley had been able to deduce, and from Aziraphale’s appearance and demeanour when he’d first spoken to him, it seemed as though their captors hadn’t been so reserved when they had first brought Aziraphale here. The thought of it set Crowley’s blood aflame.

As soon as Newt reached him, Crowley reached out his hand and gently touched him on the arm. Newt jumped, almost dropping the vials of blood, and set wide, fearful eyes on Crowley.

“We need to talk,” Crowley murmured sternly. Newt visibly swallowed and opened the door, ignoring Crowley’s request. Crowley turned to give Aziraphale one last reassuring smile, mouthing, “ _leave it to me_ ,” and followed Newt out of the room. The door sealed shut behind them, and they returned to the front of the warehouse, where Father Shadwell was waiting for them.

“Did ye do it?” Shadwell demanded, eyes flicking to the vials of blood in Newt’s hands.

“I did.”

“Did he beg ye?” Shadwell leered, and Crowley set his jaw and fought hard not to recoil.

“He did,” he answered, trying not to think about the fact that those words were the truth, that Aziraphale actually _wanted_ him. Shadwell smirked.

“Give ‘em ‘ere then, laddie, we don’t have all day,” he grunted, holding his hand out towards Newt. Newt crossed the room and placed the vials in his palm, and Shadwell patted him firmly on the shoulder, dropping the vials into his pocket and snatching up his car keys from the table. “Keep him ‘ere ‘til I get back,” he instructed Newt, who nodded vigorously in response. As soon as Shadwell was gone, Crowley seized his opportunity.

“I know they have something on you,” Crowley spoke to Newt’s back. The young man whirled around to face him. “Either that or they’ve simply threatened you. You obviously don’t want to be here. I mean, you don’t actually _want_ to be doing this, do you?” he hissed, gesturing towards the door leading to the corridor from where they had just come. Newt stared at him, unblinking, his arms held tensely at his sides. “Listen to me, whatever it is, I can make it go away,” Crowley tempted.

Newt’s face twitched, and Crowley received the confirmation he needed that he was right, becoming even more determined that his plan would succeed. He tilted his head and waited for Newt to respond, watching a whole series of expressions flicker across his face, until he finally said, “I can’t exactly trust a _demon_.”

“I see, so you’re just going to keep doing things like this for the rest of your life? It’s obvious these aren’t the kind of people you want to be involved with, and I’m sure _they_ can see that too, by the way. That’s probably something you should be concerned about.”

Newt just continued to stare at him. Crowley could see his mind working; he was evidently affected by what Crowley was saying. Crowley’s heart was racing, aware that if he got this wrong he would have sacrificed the best chance he had of getting Aziraphale safely out of here, but he couldn’t give Newt any indication of how he was feeling.

“Go on,” Crowley encouraged gently, “what is it? What did they threaten to do to you?”

“It’s not _me_!” Newt confessed, then took a step backwards away from Crowley.

“Ohhh... they threatened someone you _care_ about,” Crowley deduced. “Who is it? Tell me and I can help them.”

“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” Newt said emphatically, turning his back and moving towards the door Shadwell had left through. Crowley’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“You say you can’t trust a demon? Fine! What about an _angel_ , could you trust _him_?” Crowley urged desperately, stretching his arm out in the general direction of the room in which Aziraphale was being held. “Forget about me. Tell Aziraphale what’s happened, tell him what you need him to do and he’ll help you. You just need to take the gloves off him and I promise he’ll be able to help you, whatever it is.”

“What? Why would you...?” Newt began, turning back around to face Crowley, his eyebrows knitted together. Crowley had his hands clasped together in front of him, an unconscious gesture of pleading, his eyes wide and glistening with moisture. Newt studied him for a moment, his face then softening as realisation crossed his features. “You... You care about him,” Newt murmured quietly. Normally when Newt spoke everything sounded like a question, uncertainty always lingering in his voice, but this was very clearly a simple statement of fact.

“Newt, listen to me, please just get him out of here! I promise he won’t hurt you, and he’ll be able to keep you safe, you and whoever else they’ve threatened.”

“You’d have me free him and leave you behind? He won’t be able to help you while you have those gloves on, you know.”

“Please, just _do it_ ,” Crowley begged. He knew what Newt was saying was true. Whenever a demon had been captured by humans in the past and had these gloves fitted, no other demon had been able to free them. It made sense that the same would be true for an angel. It didn’t matter though. He just needed to know Aziraphale was safe.

“Oh my God... she did it,” Newt whispered to himself, touching his hand to his heart, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

“Who?”

“Anathema. My girlfriend. She’s a witch, you see.”

“Newt, you need to start making sense, we might not have much time.”

“She’s the witch who summoned you. Father Shadwell’s... _organisation_ doesn’t treat witches very well. He threatened to hurt her unless we both agreed to help him, but she told me, when Shadwell asked her to summon a demon she cast a spell to only summon a demon who wouldn’t actually be able to hurt the angel they were holding. She couldn’t bear the thought of it. I assumed she meant wouldn’t _be able to_ , like, wouldn’t be strong enough... not...” Newt trailed off and stared at Crowley again, a small smile on his face. “She actually did it. I should have known.”

Crowley stood in silence, his gut twisting as he watched Newt processing this revelation and weighing up his options. He considered trying to encourage Newt, to ask him to free him, that it would be what his girlfriend wanted, but he was too afraid of saying the wrong thing and so could do nothing but helplessly watch.

The cogs in Newt’s mind finally seemed to stop spinning. He blew out a long breath and nodded, rapidly closing the distance between them. He stood right in front of Crowley and hesitated for only a second before removing a device from his pocket and touching it to one of Crowley’s wrists.

Crowley felt the gloves loosen immediately, and he tugged them off as quickly as he could, rushing through the door into the corridor. Newt chased after him, and after Crowley made short work of the guard (it would be best not to speculate as to where he had sent him, but suffice to say it was somewhere _unpleasant_ ), Newt deactivated the lock and Crowley shoved open the door.

Aziraphale leapt up from the bed, his eyes immediately drifting to Crowley’s unbound hands. He had fixed his shirt and refastened his bowtie, but his hair was still scruffy from Crowley’s ministrations. He looked absolutely gorgeous, even more so when he smiled at Crowley with an expression of total adoration. Crowley was quite prepared to rescue the angel, dare he say _his_ angel, as many times as necessary if it would earn him another one of those smiles. Crowley winked at him.

Aziraphale tucked Crowley’s jacket under his arm and crossed the room to join them. Crowley took the jacket from him and slipped it on before using his free hands to peel off the surgical tape and remove the syringe from Aziraphale’s arm. Aziraphale winced, and Crowley rubbed his arm soothingly before rolling down his sleeve for him.

“Give him your hand, angel,” Crowley said softly. Aziraphale nodded and held one of his hands up towards Newt, but the young man didn’t move.

“Anathema is in the room next door.”

Crowley sighed dramatically and swept his hand up, clicking his fingers, and the witch he vaguely remembered from the day he had been summoned to the warehouse appeared at Newt’s side. She gasped, her eyes darting around the room. Newt grabbed hold of her, pulling her tightly against him and whispering soothing words in her ear.

“Newt, what’s happening?” she asked uncertainly.

“You did it, you’re amazing, I love you,” he whispered as he held her.

“Lovely reunion,” Crowley muttered, only slightly sarcastically, “but _please_ , I’ll send you anywhere you want to go, but first...”

“Right,” Newt mumbled, drawing back from the witch and touching the device to one of Aziraphale’s wrists. Crowley pulled the gloves off his hands before Aziraphale even had a chance to consider doing it for himself and reflexively dropped them to the floor as though they had scalded him.

“What do you say we get the Heaven out of here?” Crowley suggested, and with a single click of his fingers, everything was put right. Well, that is to say _Crowley’s version_ of what was right, which included a rather unpleasant outcome for Father Shadwell that would extend well beyond the immediate moment. Not only was his vast, secret organisation exposed and taken down, but Father Shadwell himself would experience a whole series of unfortunate events for the rest of his life, including the unexplained growth of additional nipples, a refusal of all automatic doors to open for him, and every film he tried to watch inexplicably turning into The Sound of Music. On one particularly eventful day, a chandelier even fell on top of him. His political connections may have enabled him to avoid imprisonment, but Crowley ensured that Shadwell would come to believe time in prison would have been a blessing.

Anathema and Newt were returned to their lovely little cottage in Tadfield, where Anathema would be safe to practice witchcraft without being abducted and coerced by any evil priests, or anyone else for that matter.

But of course, these outcomes were not Crowley’s primary focus. The most important consequence was that he was safely back in his Mayfair flat, and that Aziraphale was here with him. After all this time, they were finally alone together and safe, and Crowley had things he _really_ wanted to do now that his hands were actually free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to KissMyAsthma for suggesting a chandelier should fall on Shadwell's head. Just one of the many, many 'unfortunate' things that would happen to him I assure you!
> 
> We all know what's going to happen in the next chapter - after all that time spent alone with his fantasies I do think Aziraphale's earned it. ;-) I'm not sure when I'll be able to post it though, I've got a busy few days ahead. :-( 
> 
> Thank you again for reading and for your lovely comments! <3


	7. Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that they're safe, Crowley wants to know what Aziraphale has been thinking about all these years...

“Where are we?” Aziraphale asked, glancing around and then turning to take in more of the room. He pressed a palm to his chest and breathed out a long sigh.

“In my flat. I thought it was best to come here,” Crowley replied, watching Aziraphale’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “You can go back to your bookshop, if you like, once I’ve had chance to check it’s safe.”

“What about Newton and that lovely young lady?”

“They’re safe too, don’t worry. No one will be bothering them.”

“And Father Shadwell?”

“Not so safe,” Crowley sneered.

“Oh, good,” Aziraphale replied simply, and Crowley took the absence of any further questions on the matter as a sign that Aziraphale trusted him to have dealt with the situation appropriately. What a concept that was. Crowley had barely had time to even consider it, but Aziraphale actually _trusted_ him. He had been just as tempted as Crowley had to continue the acquaintance they had begun in Eden, but Crowley understood completely why Aziraphale had needed to keep his distance, after all, Crowley had deemed it necessary to do the same. How they would deal with that now, and the consequences if Aziraphale’s superiors ever found out they were _fraternising_ , was another subject Crowley hadn’t had chance to give much thought. All he knew was that it didn’t matter, they would have to find a solution, because there was no way now that he could go back to simply admiring Aziraphale from afar.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale stepped around the room, reverently touching his fingertips to Crowley’s desk, then his throne chair, and Crowley suppressed a wince, unsure what Aziraphale would make of his choice of decor.

“Ostentatious,” Aziraphale observed, his teasing smile and twinkling eyes setting Crowley’s mind at rest. Aziraphale _knew_ him, Aziraphale _loved_ him, and he obviously wasn’t going to judge him. Crowley had imagined Aziraphale in his flat so many times, although usually in his mind, the activities they engaged in together took place in one room in particular, and it wasn’t this one. “Thank you for rescuing me, Crowley,” Aziraphale offered sincerely.

“Always. I’ll always be there, whenever and wherever you need me.”

The atmosphere in the room shifted, a palpable intensity settling between them. Drawn as though by magnetic attraction, they both stepped towards each other until they were standing so close that their breath mingled.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here with me,” Crowley murmured softly, carding his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair, and in the name of Hell how good _that_ felt, actually being able to feel his soft curls beneath his fingertips. He scratched lightly at Aziraphale’s scalp, remembering how much he’d enjoyed him doing that earlier, and Aziraphale shivered.

“I can’t quite believe it myself,” Aziraphale gasped, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, leaning into Crowley’s touch.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you from the moment we met.”

“Neither have I.”

“You said some things to me back there, angel... did you mean them?” Crowley asked, his voice deep and low.

“I meant every word,” Aziraphale whispered, leaning forward to capture Crowley’s lips in a brief, delicate kiss.

“You said...” Crowley swallowed thickly, his lips tingling from Aziraphale’s kiss. “You said there was nothing I could do to you that you hadn’t imagined.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you’d like to try to prove me wrong,” Aziraphale teased.

“Fuck, _Aziraphale_...” Crowley let his head fall forward onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, breathing heavily. In his long existence, only in the presence of Aziraphale had Crowley ever been the _victim_ of temptation. He wrapped his arms around the angel, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. “I can’t believe you’ve thought about me like that.”

“How could I not? You’re stunningly beautiful, my dear. Absolutely enchanting.” Crowley shivered as Aziraphale’s hands found their way into his hair, his fingers running through the long strands. “I’ve always loved your hair, I’ve wanted to touch it like this for so long. I’m so glad I can touch you properly now.”

Crowley flexed his own hands against Aziraphale’s back. He was right. The gloves were gone, and there didn’t need to be any barriers between them anymore. He brought his hands around to cup Aziraphale’s face, smoothing his thumbs across his cheeks.

“I want to know everything you’ve imagined.”

“That might take some time,” Aziraphale murmured softly, dipping his head and gazing at Crowley through his eyelashes. Crowley felt Aziraphale’s cheeks heat beneath his touch.

“We have time,” Crowley winked, and Aziraphale licked his lips. Crowley’s insides thrummed with anticipation. “After spending so long on that hard bed, would you maybe like to relax somewhere more comfortable?” he suggested, attempting to become the one actually _providing_ the temptation.

“Yes, as long as you’ll be there with me, that sounds wonderful.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not going anywhere.”

Crowley smiled affectionately and took one of Aziraphale’s hands in his, finding the sensation of their fingers finally threaded together surprisingly erotic. He led Aziraphale to his bedroom, his heart pounding in his chest with every step they took, and was still holding onto Aziraphale’s hand when they reached their destination and both sat down on the edge of the bed. This was unbelievable; after six thousand years of watching him and dreaming about him, Aziraphale was _in Crowley’s bedroom_ , actually sitting on his bed.

“What would you like to do?” Crowley asked softly, squeezing his hand. “Would you like to relax for a while? You’ve been through a lot, and Newt took a fair amount of blood from you today.”

“Now that your hands are finally free, I think I’d prefer for you to touch me.”

Crowley hummed approvingly and leaned in close to whisper in Aziraphale’s ear, “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive, angel.” Crowley nipped Aziraphale’s earlobe, and when he pulled back he was delighted to see the blush that had spread over his cheeks. “Why don’t you lie back on the bed?”

Aziraphale extracted his hand from Crowley’s and bent down to carefully and methodically untie his shoes, slipping them off and setting them neatly together to one side. He was so fussy and adorable, and Crowley _loved_ it. He loved everything about him. Aziraphale sat back up and his fingers moved to the buttons of his waistcoat. Crowley growled and batted his hands away.

“No... _mine_. Lie down.”

Aziraphale’s breathing hitched and he gazed intently at Crowley, licking his lips before clambering up onto the bed, shuffling back and laying his head on the pillow. Crowley kicked off his boots and lay down on his side beside him.

“What now?” Aziraphale asked, a hint of teasing in his voice. Crowley could still hardly believe this was actually happening. He planned to _worship_ his angel, to give him anything he wanted.

“I told you before, I want to know what you’ve been imagining,” Crowley teased, tracing patterns with his fingers between the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat. Aziraphale chuckled breathlessly.

“I’m not quite sure where to start.”

“Well, I want to hear it all, so it really doesn’t matter where you start,” Crowley smirked, unbuttoning Aziraphale’s waistcoat at a leisurely pace. “And for the record, anything you’ve thought about that you actually want me to do, just tell me and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you.”

Crowley undid the final button and pushed Aziraphale’s waistcoat open, sliding his hands up his chest and starting on his bowtie, leaning down to kiss Aziraphale as he did so. He had intended for the kiss to be brief and tender, but Aziraphale reached a hand up into his hair and fisted it, holding him close and sliding his tongue past Crowley’s parted lips, stoking the fire that was building inside him. Crowley moaned against his mouth, and when Aziraphale eventually broke their kiss, running his tongue along Crowley’s bottom lip, Crowley’s jeans started feeling even tighter than usual.

“Angel... you’re incredible... please tell me what you’ve thought about...” Crowley begged breathlessly, starting work on unbuttoning Aziraphale’s shirt to access more of his throat, planting sucking kisses along the length of it. Aziraphale sighed and tilted his head back.

“When you told me you’d secretly rescued me in Paris...” Aziraphale began, and Crowley’s heart started beating harder in anticipation of hearing Aziraphale’s fantasies, not to mention the prospect of being able to turn them into something real, “it made me think about that day,” Aziraphale continued, and Crowley was gratified to hear the way his voice wavered and his breaths became shallower. “When I was locked up in the Bastille, I thought about you. I imagined you coming to rescue me.”

“And I did,” Crowley grinned against his neck, his hands still working their way down the buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt.

“I do wish I had known,” Aziraphale sighed.

“If I recall correctly, they had you all chained up in there... so when you imagined me coming to your rescue, did I take the chains straight off you or leave them on for a while?” Crowley asked suggestively.

“Oh...” Aziraphale blinked and Crowley tilted his head, watching him, using nothing but his eyes to try to tempt him into confessing his fantasies.

“Yes?” Crowley grinned, licking his lips and fully opening Aziraphale’s shirt (and in the name of everything holy and unholy he was _fucking_ _gorgeous_ ), lowering himself down again to kiss his way along Aziraphale’s collarbone. Aziraphale squirmed beneath him, arching his back when Crowley’s mouth travelled lower, finding his nipple. Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley sat up to look at him. His skin was flushed already, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and he was more perfect than Crowley could have ever imagined. “Aren’t you going to tell me?” Crowley teased.

“You left them on. You pushed me up against the wall and held me there,” Aziraphale panted, and Crowley let out a low growl. He grabbed hold of Aziraphale’s wrists and pinned them above his head. Aziraphale pushed back against him and Crowley held him more firmly in response, returning the attention of his mouth to Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale squirmed beneath him.

“What else have you thought about?”

“When you were in Rome to tempt...” Aziraphale began but broke off, moaning as Crowley ran his tongue along his throat. He struggled against Crowley’s hold on his wrists, and Crowley couldn’t help but grin against the angel’s neck as he tightened his grasp even more. “Caligula,” Aziraphale panted.

“Hmm... yes, I was. I take it you were there?” Crowley whispered casually into Aziraphale’s ear, smiling as a breathless sound that seemed to indicate assent emerged from him. “Talk to me, angel. What did you think about in Rome?”

“I’m sure you can imagine,” Aziraphale grunted as Crowley removed one of his hands, still holding Aziraphale’s wrists together with the other and pressing them down against the bed. His free hand travelled lower and awkwardly unbuttoned Aziraphale’s trousers before he withdrew it, running his palm teasingly over the front of Aziraphale’s trousers in the process, eliciting further squirming. “Crowley...”

“Tell me.”

“The baths.”

“Ah... I see,” Crowley mused, as if he hadn’t already suspected that was what Aziraphale would say. “Well, I have a very spacious bathtub here, you know,” he drawled.

“I think I’d prefer if it _weren’t_ spacious,” Aziraphale countered, and Crowley experienced a sharp pulse of arousal, his hand coming to rest teasingly at the top of Aziraphale’s thigh. Being so thoroughly and frequently tempted was going to take some getting used to, but the thought of it sent a thrill shiver down Crowley’s spine.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll keep you close. Was there anything in particular you imagined, or did you just want the opportunity to see me naked?” Crowley teased, now stroking his free hand up and down over Aziraphale’s chest and stomach, just grazing below his waistband with each stroke.

“The oil...”

“Yes, I remember the oil. What did you want to happen with the oil?” Crowley moved as if to unzip Aziraphale’s trousers, but then instead of doing so, he just let his palm rest lightly there. Aziraphale thrust his hips to press himself against Crowley’s hand. “Come on, angel, tell me. Did you want me to massage the oil into you? Or did you want to do that to me?” Crowley finally relented and pressed his palm more firmly against Aziraphale, who hissed and rolled his head back in response.

“Both.”

“That sounds perfect. What else?”

“Crowley... please...” Aziraphale begged, and Crowley withdrew his hand and slung one leg over Aziraphale’s hips, pulling himself up to straddle him, his other hand still holding Aziraphale’s wrists against the bed.

“Please what?”

“Tell me what _you’ve_ thought about,” Aziraphale asked, looking up at him with half-lidded but pleading eyes. Crowley grinned, a particular image immediately forming in his mind.

“Do you remember the windmill?”

“You might have to be more specific, those did used to be rather common,” Aziraphale pointed out, and Crowley glared playfully and used his free hand to lightly stroke Aziraphale’s chest, a tender touch that contrasted with the powerful grip he maintained on Aziraphale’s wrists.

“In Nottingham, 1822, you were performing a miracle to get it working again.”

“Yes, I remember... those poor people had been without flour for weeks! You were there?” Aziraphale asked brightly, smiling as though the thought brought him tremendous joy. Crowley managed to partially bite back a reciprocating, adoring smile.

“I was. You had a rather unfortunate mishap, didn’t you, angel?”

“Oh dear... yes, I’m afraid I did.”

“I loved seeing you like that, all messy and covered with flour. You’re normally always so prim and proper... When you said you enjoy baking it made me think about that again, how much I wanted your flour-covered hands all over me, for you to cover me with your handprints.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Aziraphale drawled, shuffling his hands slightly beneath Crowley’s grip. “In the meantime, I have other ways of leaving a mark on you.”

“Fuck, _angel_...” Crowley instinctively ground his hips against Aziraphale, hissing as he realised that he had yielded to Aziraphale’s temptation. It was worth it though, to hear Aziraphale’s surprised gasp transform into a drawn out moan. “You’re supposed to be relaxing, letting me take care of you.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Aziraphale protested, shuffling his hips and increasing the friction between them.

“I want to, and I’m going to. All right?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and nodded, and Crowley relaxed his grip on his wrists, stroking one of them with his thumb. “I’m going to release your wrists now, but you’ll keep them there for me, won’t you?”

Crowley watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as Aziraphale swallowed and nodded again, releasing his grip but still keeping hold of one of Aziraphale’s wrists long enough to bring it to his lips and kiss it tenderly.

“Good,” Crowley praised, and Aziraphale drew his bottom lip into his mouth.

“You know, if you want to make sure I don’t move, you could always summon that rope you had...” Aziraphale suggested, and with that, Crowley had no hope of trying to deny that out of the two of them, Aziraphale was much more the master of temptation.

“Oh, there won’t be any need for that, will there?” Crowley teased, winking as he added, “Not today, anyway. Just lie back and relax for me, angel.”

Crowley had every intention of being true to his word and taking the time to learn everything Aziraphale enjoyed, every fantasy he was willing to share with him, and to make up for lost time by making as many of them as possible a reality. But for now, all he wanted was to worship Aziraphale’s body the way he had dreamed of countless times.

Aziraphale moved his hands slightly so that they were on either side of his head and Crowley took in the sight of him, lying beneath him _on his bed_ , open and trusting and eager. After so many years, it would be difficult for Crowley to choose his favourite fantasy about Aziraphale, but if he’d _had to_ , it might very well have been this. Crowley shifted off Aziraphale to sit at his side.

“Sit up so I can undress you, but then I want your hands back where they were,” Crowley instructed. Aziraphale sat up and immediately took the opportunity to reach out for Crowley, wrapping one hand around his nape to draw him in for another devouring kiss, leaving Crowley quite unable to do anything besides whimper against his mouth and surrender to him, Aziraphale’s tongue pressing eagerly into his mouth. Crowley sucked in a deep breath and narrowed his eyes when Aziraphale eventually pulled back.

“You didn’t say I couldn’t...” Aziraphale smiled teasingly.

“You need _explicit_ instructions then? I’ll keep that in mind,” Crowley murmured, trying to keep his voice steady, the heat in Aziraphale’s eyes burning brighter in response to his words. “Stay still and let me undress you.”

Aziraphale complied, and Crowley took his time with his task, first pulling Aziraphale’s unfastened bowtie free from his collar, then sliding off his waistcoat and eventually his shirt. He ran his hands reverently down Aziraphale’s sides and rested them on his hips, gently kneading the flesh there. He hissed between gritted teeth.

“You’re gorgeous,” Crowley praised. Aziraphale dipped his head, but Crowley grabbed hold of his chin and tilted it back up. “Don’t look away from me. Lie back down now, hands back above your head.”

Once Aziraphale was settled back on the bed, Crowley removed the rest of his clothes. Crowley himself was still fully dressed, and he wondered whether this particular scenario was one of the things Aziraphale had thought about over the years. He let his eyes roam over Aziraphale’s body, and, adhering to Crowley’s instructions, Aziraphale watched him intently.

“Do you like this?” Crowley asked softly, although now that Aziraphale was fully naked, his physical reaction did rather give away that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Still, Crowley wanted to hear him say it.

“Yes.”

“You like being naked in my bed, ready for me to do whatever I like with you?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect.”

Crowley began a languorous exploration of Aziraphale’s body with his hands and mouth, revelling in the way Aziraphale sighed and moaned and shifted on the bed, breathlessly saying Crowley’s name over and over again, his tone gradually becoming more and more pleading. Crowley eventually settled himself between Aziraphale’s thighs, finally giving Aziraphale what he wanted and what he himself had dreamed of for centuries, using his hands and tongue to bring Aziraphale to the heights of pleasure. 

Crowley let his wings unfurl, draping them over Aziraphale and using them to pin him down against the bed along the length of his body, which had the desired effect, Aziraphale crying out Crowley’s name as he reached his climax.

Crowley relaxed the pressure he was applying with his wings, sweeping his feathers soothingly and adoringly over Aziraphale’s body as he shuffled up the bed and curled up beside the angel, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He nuzzled his neck then rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, feeling Aziraphale’s racing pulse and his gradually levelling breaths beneath his cheek. Crowley draped both an arm and a wing protectively over him, and, apparently inferring that he was now free to move his hands, Aziraphale reached out and began softly stroking his feathers, inducing electric tingles throughout Crowley’s body.

“Crowley... that was... Crowley... I...”

“Yes, angel?”

“I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love too, Aziraphale.” Crowley pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“That was incredible.”

“Better than you imagined?”

“Yes... yes absolutely.”

“Well, that pleases me greatly,” Crowley grinned, shifting slightly to trail kisses along Aziraphale’s collarbone, “but I do feel I should tell you... I’m only just getting started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of Aziraphale's fantasies are finally going to come true! ;-) Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! <3
> 
> PS - If anyone wants to write a fic about windmill shenanigans set in 1822 I would love to read it and I suggest the title "Grinding" ;-)


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